


king's favor

by plingo_kat



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: When Nyx stomps his way into the barracks, Libertus barely looks up. “Who was it this time?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> For this [prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=798025#cmt798025): "Nyx is one of the only omegas in the kingsglaive and keeps having to physically fight off people who want to bang him like a screen door in a hurricane. Regis has a soft spot for him and offers to claim him, since he says he's not interested in a mate & Regis won't take advantage.
> 
> Except he's hella hot for Regis & wants the king to wreck him 
> 
> Bonus if Regis does wreck him and it's all consensual & awesome"
> 
> \---
> 
> THANK YOU, OP, FOR GIVING US THIS EXCELLENT SCENARIO. Myself and the other 3 Regis/Nyx shippers out there applaud you.
> 
>  **Warning** : while not dubcon, there are some power dynamics that may be slightly uncomfortable if you're sensitive to that kind of thing.

When Nyx stomps his way into the barracks, Libertus barely looks up. “Who was it this time?”

“Tredd,” Nyx snarls. He jerks open his jacket and throws it onto his bunk. “I swear, one day I’m going to kill someone when they try to get handsy.”

“Am I gonna have to go scrape Tredd off the floor?” Libertus asks mildly. He inspects the blade he’s sharpening, then nods and gives it a wipedown with the oil-stained rag laid over his thigh.

Nyx sighs through his nose and stills. He closes his eyes and take three deep breaths.

“No,” he says finally, calmer now. “Axis was there, he’ll take care of him.”

“That’s good.” Libertus slides the blade into its sheath and stands. “Come on, let’s see the damage.”

“I’m fine,” Nyx grumbles, but holds out his hands willingly enough when Libertus motions impatiently. “Just some bruises.”

“You always split your knuckles,” Libertus retorts. “Even through the gloves, which I’m constantly amazed by. I keep telling you--”

“--I ought to get them reinforced, yeah, yeah. But then I’d do some real damage when I hit people. Drautos already gets mad with what I dish out _now_.”

“Drautos is an alpha,” Libertus says. “He doesn’t get it because he’s immune to you.”

“Thanks,” Nyx says with a roll of his eyes. Libertus doesn’t have to make him sound like a _disease_.

“I’m just saying.” Libertus conjures up some antiseptic out of nowhere and dabs it over the cuts on Nyx’s knuckles. Nyx hisses. “If he were a beta, or if he were affected, he wouldn’t be putting all the blame on you.”

“I’m glad he isn’t affected,” Nyx says. He _is_ glad, fervently; hitting his commanding officer would be terrible for his career.

“Yeah, he’s not really your type.” Libertus smirks a little at Nyx’s glare. “What? I know what you like.”

“Whatever.” It’s nice that they can joke about it now. Nyx asked Libertus several years ago, awkward and a little desperate, if he would register with him as a beta-omega couple. He regretted it almost immediately. Thankfully Libertus was more sensible and refused. “You done yet?”

“Hold on, princess.” Libertus dabs one more stinging touch to Nyx’s abraded skin. “Okay, now you won’t get sepsis and die. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” Nyx leaves his gloves off to let the cuts air out and folds his jacket properly, wrapping his purple lieutenant ties neatly twice around them to finish. “Any word yet about when we’re being shipped out?”

“That you didn’t hear first? Nah.” Libertus busies himself with putting away his blade care kit. “Though Crowe came by looking for you.”

“Wonder what for.” Nyx goes over his day’s schedule; he’s got two hours free. “You know where she went?”

Libertus makes a noncommittal sound. He’s already made himself comfortable on his bunk and pulled out a book.

“A lot of help you are,” Nyx says, and whacks him gently on the foot.

“Go away.” Libertus says. “Fine Crowe and stop bothering me.”

Nyx has to grin a little. He fights to keep it out of his tone as he turns away. “Fine,” he says, mock offended. “I can see where I’m not wanted.”

“Try not to beat anybody else up!” Libertus calls after him as he leaves.

“No promises!” Nyx calls back. He snorts to himself. Yeah, that’s a little too on the nose.

 

“Where the hell have you _been_?” Crowe says, accosting him ten minutes later in the third floor’s eastern hallway. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Had a thing,” Nyx says. Crowe’s sharp eyes take in his newly cut up hands, the little tear at the hemline of his shirt, the scuff marks on his boots.

“Another one?” she says. “Who?”

“Tredd.” He’s calmed down enough that it comes out as a sigh of resignation rather than a curse. “Probably an accidental cycle match.”

Being the only omega in the Kingsglaive has it’s share of hassles. One of them is the high ratio of alphas to betas; it lessens the stabilizing influence betas usually have on group dynamics, so alphas still have relatively strong cycles. When they match up with Nyx’s he gets people trying to grope him on the sparring mat. And then a fight.

Nyx gets into a lot of fights. More recently, though he’s not sure what changed

“Can’t be why, then,” she says. When he catches his look of confusion she elaborates. “Drautos told me to find you. Amicitia called you in for a meeting.”

“What?” Nyx blinks. “Why?”

“Beats me,” she shrugs. “I thought it might have been about, you know, the alpha thing, but he asked for you before your face off with Tredd went down.”

“Doesn’t mean it couldn’t be about the alphas.” Nyx thinks back over the six altercations he’s had within the last three weeks with a sinking stomach. “Crap. I’ve gotta go get my uniform.”

“He told me to get you as soon as I could.” Crowe grabs his arm.

“Crowe--” Nyx follows as she tows him toward Amicitia’s office. They’re close to it. Wearing his uniform probably won’t make too much of a difference if he gets chewed out for an aspect of his biology anyway, he tries to convince himself.

“Look,” Crowe says. She even sounds slightly sympathetic, which is more than what Nyx usually gets from her. “Amicitia’s fair, he knows it’s not your fault.”

“It’s kind of my fault,” he corrects her. He doesn’t _have_ to fight them off as, uh, _vigorously_ as he tends to.

“Well it’s not completely your fault,” she says, and raps twice on Amicitia’s door. His deep voice calls _come in_ from behind it. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he says, making a face. She rolls her eyes and he uses the familiarity of the gesture for strength as he walks into the room. “Wh--sire?”

Why is the _king_ here? he thinks frantically, bending at the waist into a low bow. Shit, he hasn’t done anything worth this!

“Stand,” the king says. Nyx straightens from his bow and moves to parade rest, staring straight ahead at Amicitia. The other man isn't even looking at him, so he can't see the _what the hell, sir_ Nyx is beaming at him with his eyes. “At ease, Ulric, you're not here to be reprimanded.”

“Your Majesty,” Nyx says, which is really just punctuation while he waits for further clarification. 

Luckily the king seems to understand that. He continues with barely a pause. “Clarus brought it to my attention that you've been harassed by some of the Kingsglaive.”

 _Why,_ Nyx stares at Amicitia. _Why would you do that._

“It's not a slight against you,” the king continues, politely ignoring Nyx’s death glare. “But with the war drawing closer to Insomnia you'll soon be out on the field. A cycle’s distraction could get someone killed.”

“Sire,” Nyx blurts out, horrified into speech. “I can't--”

Regis raises a hand and Nyx quiets. “Nobody is suggesting you be left behind,” he says, a blatant lie if Nyx has ever heard one. “Actually Clarus suggested an alternative. I've no objections, although of course the final decision is up to you.”

At this point Regis clears his throat and looks slightly uncomfortable. “May I call you Nyx?”

“Sure,” Nyx says, “I mean, yes, Your Majesty.” Amicitia coughs like he’s hiding a laugh. Nyx narrows his eyes a little in resentment. So he’s not used to audiences with the king, no need to be a dick about it.

He’s maybe a little pissed that Amicitia orchestrated this… whatever this is.

“Please call me Regis,” the king says. Nyx blinks at him. “I’d like to talk to you as a man, not as your king.”

“...Uh,” Nyx says when it’s obvious Regis expects a reply. “I guess I can do that, s--Regis.”

Amicitia coughs again. This time Regis shoots him a look and he ducks his head, chastised.

“Thank you, Nyx.” Regis smiles at him. The corners of his eyes crinkle and Nyx feels a flutter low in his belly; despite his prematurely aged appearance Regis is charismatic and almost brutally handsome. “I’d like to offer you a temporary cycle-sync.”

Nyx chokes on his next inhale. “What?” he says, strangled, as Amicitia finally breaks and laughs, that complete bastard. Even Regis has a subtle twist to his mouth.

“You heard him,” Amicitia finally speaks, regaining his composure with impressive speed. “A temporary cycle-sync so you aren’t a liability in the field. Regis isn’t looking for a bond, so you can dissolve the arrangement at any time or once it’s purpose is served.”

“What?” Nyx says again, blankly. He’s never thought about the king that way -- well, okay, he _has_ , but only in passing, and never on purpose -- and anyway, wouldn’t it be a huge scandal?

“You’d have to keep it quiet, of course,” Amicitia says like he can read Nyx’s mind. “We don’t need the press to get wind of it and blow things out of proportion. But it can be done.”

“It can be done,” Nyx says slowly. He opens his mouth to ask _So does that mean you’ve done it before?_ and then closes it before he does. “Can I think about this?” he says instead.

Regis straightens from where he leaned against the wall, stepping back to allow Amicitia the spotlight. “Of course,” he says. “Take your time to decide. If I’m available feel free to tell me your decision directly, but if you can’t reach me you can speak to Clarus. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for an audience.”

“Sire,” Nyx says belatedly as he leaves the room, and salutes. Regis looks over his shoulder and smiles wryly back.

“Don’t take too long,” Amicitia says, shuffling some papers around on his desk. “Kingsglaive is being deployed in two weeks. If you want to be approved for the field you’ll need some time for the sync to settle. I’d give it a week.”

“I’ll have an answer in two days,” Nyx says firmly. He always does better with deadlines. “Uh. Thanks for doing this, sir.” _Despite being a dick about it._

Amicitia smirks at him. “Good. Dismissed, Glaive.”

Nyx goes.

 

Two days later Nyx shows up at Amicitia’s office again. He does the same routine: knock, hear Amicitia’s answer, enter. When Amicitia sees it’s Nyx, he puts away the report he’s reading and gives him his full attention.

“Well?” he says. “I assume you have an answer for Regis.”

“Yes,” Nyx says. His palms are sweating. “My answer is yes.”

Amicitia nods a little, like he’s checking a mental box. “Good. Report to the king’s chambers at twenty-one hundred hours. Regis will be expecting you.”

It seems like that’s all Nyx is getting. “Sir,” he salutes and leaves. He has five hours to kill.

He spends them getting in another fight, this time with Luche, and then receiving a chewing out by Drautos. “You’re good, Nyx, but you aren’t worth the entire unit,” he ends up saying, stepping in close enough for Nyx to feel his breath on his face. “Understand? If you can’t get this worked out before we deploy, you’re going to be reassigned.”

“I got it,” Nyx says. Drautos sighs.

“Fine,” he says, and waves Nyx off. “Go. If you’re part of another incident, you’ll be doing guard duty on the wall.”

Nyx stalks away. He begs off dinner when Crowe asks, but urges Libertus to go with; the fewer people around to ask where he’s going tonight, the better. When twenty-one hundred approaches he dresses in his nicest clothing -- which means his uniform -- and heads over to the king’s quarters.

Regis opens the door at his first knock. “Come in,” he says, stepping back, and Nyx squares his shoulders as he walks over the threshold.

He’s already vowed to himself not to call Regis ‘Majesty’ or any derivation thereof. That’s… a little too kinky. And also it’d probably make Regis uncomfortable; Nyx didn’t get the ownership-alpha vibe from him in Amicitia’s office.

“So,” Nyx says after a cursory glance around the room, “are we just going to--”

Regis steps close, faster than he usually moves, fast enough to make Nyx flinch back and grab for his warp-dagger. Regis intercepts him, grasps the back of his neck, and pulls him in for a kiss.

It’s--shocking, like touching a streetlamp in a lightning storm in winter. Bolts of sensation shoot from the meeting point of their lips down Nyx’s throat to his chest and thighs; it feels like the first time he tried to use magic, power sparking through his blood. He gasps and leans in, eager, and Regis meets him with an open mouth.

“Okay,” Nyx says faintly when they part. “Guess that answers that question.”

Regis laughs. It’s the first time Nyx has seen him do that, express mirth without some sort of bite behind it, and it takes years off his face. A lock of silver hair has escaped his coif and falls over his forehead.

“We’re certainly compatible,” Regis agrees, and brushes the tips of his fingers over Nyx’s cheek. Nyx can feel himself reacting already, breath coming deeper and the room growing brighter as his pupils dilate. His skin prickles with gooseflesh.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and lists a little drunkenly into Regis’ touch. “Should we go somewhere more comfortable, then?”

Regis smiles at him, heavy-lidded. He brushes his thumb over Nyx’s mouth. “Of course. Come.”

Nyx follows on his heels, watching the way his hair falls over the back of his neck, the sweet dip of his spine and the confident way he places his feet. Regis leads them into his bedroom, the sheets already turned down on his enormous four-poster.

“Come here,” Regis murmurs, and Nyx goes. They’re of a height, Regis just an inch or so taller, so they fit together easily, sweetly. Nyx runs his hands over the slender lines of him, wiry muscle tight over bones, no fat anywhere. He wants those sharp angles on his skin; he wants to feed Regis enough that he won’t have sharp angles anymore. He wants to be less clothed.

When he slips his fingers questing underneath Regis’ shirt, the other man obviously gets what he’s doing. He unbuttons Nyx’s Kingsglaive coat easily.

“Wow,” Nyx grins, breaking away to breathe. “That’s impressive.”

“When you can reach through dimensions to summon an arsenal, you learn to develop a delicate touch,” Regis says drily. Nyx laughs, delighted. He didn’t expect this to be so _fun_.

“Thank you,” he says, catching Regis’ eyes. He says it again, low and sincere: “Thank you, Regis.”

Regis’ face stills for a moment. His eyes widen and Nyx falls into the clear grey of them, shot through with veins of blue like magic.

He doesn’t answer, just moves in close again. This time he doesn’t ask. Nyx holds on and moans as Regis licks into him, biting gently at his bottom lip and sucking it between his teeth, then letting go to sweep into Nyx’s mouth with his tongue. He fumbles at Regis’ own buttons, and his belt, before he has to hold his arms out for Regis to strip his coat off to pool carelessly in a heap on the floor.

“Oh, Gods,” he says to the ceiling as Regis lays him down, running his teeth over Nyx’s bared throat. He writhes a little under Regis’ pinning weight, trying to spread his knees, until Regis runs a proprietary hand down his chest and over his flank to still him.

“Tell me if you’re at all uncomfortable,” Regis says, and rucks up his shirt to expose his chest. He goes straight for a nipple and bites down.

Nyx strangles a shout behind clenched teeth, head rocking back into the pillows. Regis settles his weight more firmly over Nyx’s thighs.

Dimly Nyx realizes that Regis is stimulating erogenous zones: neck, nipples and groin are all either scent-strong or hormone trigger points. If they want the sync to take, they need as many pheromones out and about as possible.

What they _also_ need is skin to skin contact, so Nyx drags his arms up and fumbles his way through stripping Regis. Eventually he gets up to take his pants off, and Nyx takes the opportunity to strip himself. He never thought he’d know that the king wore briefs instead of boxers.

“Oh,” he says when he sees Regis laid bare. He still stands like he’s wearing his mantle of office; he looks more like a king now, naked as the day he was born, than he does with crown and sword on the throne. Nyx is hard and already leaking; he bites back the words that want to escape his teeth, asking Regis to pin him down, take him, _own_ him. That isn’t what this is about.

He can’t help but present himself though, tilting his head back and twisting to display the cut of his hip and breadth of this shoulders, a taunt and a plea. Regis’ eyes darken.

“Beautiful,” Regis says, and pushes him back onto the bed. Nyx uses the rebound to move to the middle where he can stretch out, wriggling until Regis grips him firmly by the hips. He leans in until they’re cheek to cheek. “How do you want it?” His breath is cool against Nyx’s ear, each syllable making him shudder. “Would you like me to take you, or…?”

He wants--he’s offering-- Nyx whines, twisting against Regis’ grip. He’s so fucking wet. “Fuck me,” he breathes. Regis smells of ozone and ink, sweat and something deeper, sweeter. Nyx inhales, filling his lungs until his chest aches. “Please.”

Regis leans back enough for Nyx to see the edge of his wolfish smile before he bends down to bite at the join of his neck and shoulder. A callused hand wraps around his cock right as Regis’ teeth spark a bright jolt of pain along his nerves and Nyx groans, bucking, hands coming up to clutch at Regis’ arm, his thigh. He nudges Nyx’s knee and Nyx complies eagerly, bringing it up and out to splay himself open.

“Would you like a condom?” Regis sounds like he could be giving a report to the Council but for the faint gravelly rasp hidden in his throat. “We’re both clean, but it’s your preference.”

Nyx shakes his head. He’s always liked feeling his partners without anything between them when it was possible, this isn’t any different. “Please,” he says again, and--

Regis hisses at the violet spark of energy that jumps from Nyx’s hand to his back, arching, and, fuck, pressing the whole hot length of him against Nyx, almost his entire weight into the motion. 

“What,” he says, finally shaken out of his composure, but Nyx has figured it out. It’s like warping but not, starting the jump and aborting just when the magical short is on the brink of manifesting. He can feel the washback on his own skin, tingling like the first bright tickle of pins and needles.

“You’re as talented as Clarus told me you were,” Regis pants, grinding down into him. Nyx whimpers and tries to tilt his hips up, get him between his cheeks and against his hole. “A prodigious, ahh, mastery of magic indeed.”

“Please,” Nyx says again, feeling his pulse hammering in his throat. “Come on, you said you’d--”

He breaks off with a high, shocked noise as Regis slides a finger into him without warning, thrusting in to the second knuckle. After that he goes easier, letting Nyx adjust until he’s squirming for another, and another; by the time Regis has three fingers spreading him open, Nyx is practically crying for it.

“So good for me,” Regis purrs as he pushes in. Nyx twists under him, air coming in great hitching gulps until Regis seals his mouth over his and Nyx can’t breathe at all. When he pulls back his lips are swollen and wet, his face flushed. “Are you comfortable?”

Nyx hooks his leg firmer around him in answer. Regis’ chuckle does interesting things to his cock inside Nyx, and his instinctive clench causes Regis to groan and thrust in to the hilt, punching all the air out of him again.

It’s been so long. Nyx has forgotten how _good_ it feels to be fucked like this, filled up and pinned down, nothing to do but take it. He’s been fighting so hard he’s almost forgotten how to surrender. 

He claws at Regis’ shoulders and back, trying to urge him to move, but Regis takes his time: measured movements of his hips that push _hard_ into him, sliding him slowly up the bed until he’s braced against the headboard, gasping with every stroke. He runs his hands over Nyx too, casually possessive.

Nyx feels like he’s losing his mind. He’s got no leverage, curled up with Regis between his knees, and the other man isn’t touching his cock at all. It still sends a jolt of through him with every heave of his hips, slapping wetly against his belly. “I can’t--” he whines, and yelps as Regis pushes in again. “I can’t, I can’t--”

“Shh.” Regis looks down at him benevolently. Sweat plasters his hair to his forehead and his mouth is slack with pleasure beneath his beard; he looks like a god come down to earth. “You can. You can come just from this.”

“I _can’t_ \--” Nyx says, feeling desperation clawing at his chest. He’s so hard it _hurts_.

Regis just smiles at him, eyes dark and hungry, and--

\--there’s a spark of purple light, and--

When Nyx comes back to himself, he’s covered warmly with the duvet and Regis is seated next to him in a plush black robe doing paperwork.

“Mnuh,” Nyx says. Regis looks up.

“How are you feeling?” He brushes his fingers lightly over Nyx’s hair. “I have to apologize for the end there, I didn’t mean to push you so hard.”

How _is_ Nyx feeling? His muscles are watery like he’s just had the hardest training session of his life and his ass aches, well-used; he’s never been better. It takes a little more effort to remember how to speak, but he manages.

“That was amazing,” he says, only slightly slurred. He turns his head to nuzzle into the robe covering Regis’ thigh.

Regis’ fingers still in his hair, then work their way in to card through it properly. Nyx sighs.

“Good,” Regis says quietly. “If you’d like to stay the night, you’d be welcome.”

Nyx stretches a little under the crushed velvet of the duvet, luxuriating in the feel of it on his skin. “You gonna join me, or are those papers too important?”

A pause. “I suppose they could wait for the morning.”

Nyx grins helplessly into Regis’ robe. _Score_.

**Author's Note:**

> plingokat @ twitter


End file.
